Alarith of Faramwood the Impassioned Terror of the Night

Role

Chapter 3

For someone nearly three hundred years old, his father certainly was a
dangerous opponent. Alarith's initial plan of waiting for him to make
a mistake which he could capitalize on seemed to do little; he simply
could not find a flaw in the King's elaborate forms and attacks, and
playing defense only resulted in some dangerously close calls.
Frantically, he thought back to his countless battles and opponents for
inspiration. Something was too familiar about his frightening foresight
and ability to counter his plans, as if he was fighting yet another of
the damned paladins, basking in the favor of their false gods... yes,
that had to be it. His link with the devil that skulked in the shadows,
watching, had to grant him infernal insight to his plans. He had to get
out of the fiend's view. But how?

If defensive action was not the key, then perhaps lack of defense would
help. He lunged at his father, knowing that the attack would be avoided,
and purposefully left his flank open. He felt a distant sting of steel
cutting his side, but the maelstorm of emotion barely held in check by
his training drowned any sensation of pain.

Bringing his arm about, he swiftly slammed the hilt of his dagger into
the King's face, finally catching him off guard and sending him
stumbling backwards. This was just enough of an opening for Alarith to
deliver a kick to his chest, knocking him straight out onto the balcony.
He darted in after him, pulling the door shut swiftly, and found
Drezarith teetering against the railing, gathering his wits.

"Well done, my son, you seem to have caught on quickly enough... though
I did not expect you to almost throw yourself at my blade to take
advantage of it!" the King rasped. Alarith could easily tell that out
here, in this cramped space and without the devil's unnatural senses
helping him out, his father would not stand a chance anymore.

"So, perhaps before one of us dies, you can share with me the source of
your power. If you had nothing to aid your pathetic mortal self, you
would be dead by now", the older man sneered and thrust his rapier
towards Alarith's head clumsily. It took him hardly any effort to avoid
the blow and in a swift following motion kick him in the arm, sending
his weapon flying far into the night.

It was as if time freezed for that moment. Alarith watched his father
stumble back, his guard down, trying to look for the rapier that was
cast far outside the balcony. Now, or never.

Images of his mother and Maria flickered through his mind as he swung
his dagger about, in the exact same motion as so many years ago, and
thrust it with deadly accuracy between his father's ribs, straight into
his pitch black heart.

Elation was not the right word to describe the feeling. This was
something even greater; his life could have ended at this very second
and he would not have cared, since now his work was... finally complete.

"You will never know what all I have sacrificed to gain my revenge,
father", Alarith whispered, staring the half-drow in the eye. The King's
lips moved yet he made no sound save for a weak gurgle, and he started
to collapse. No, he wouldn't lie down so softly after all he has done.

Alarith pulled his dagger away and swiftly wrestled his father over the
railing, watching as his dyin

Role

Chapter 15

Once upon a time, there were three peaceful towns in the foresty lands far
northeast of Udgaard, ruled by a kind and wise king and his two dukes.

Unfortunately, these things rarely last forever. Other of the dukes,
Drezarith the Half-Blood, was a devious and an ambitious man who somehow
turned the armies of the kingdom to his side and seized power. After a
short period of turmoil and terror, however, peace returned, as despite the
executions of the new king's enemies and precedessors, his iron fisted rule
kept things stable, even if lacking in such freedom as before.

Years passed. The king found himself a queen, and she bore him three sons,
each several years apart. With him being half dark-elven and her a human
their offspring were but quarter-drow, their dark heritage almost diluted
away.

The youngest of these sons was named Alarith. It was around his birth when
the king started... changing, somehow. He started mysterious magical
experiments in the cellars of his keep, seeming only younger, stronger and
more cruel as time went on, and the plans he had for Alarith became more
convoluted. The elder sons were to take the thrones of the two dukes, but
Alarith was to become the head of his Elite Guard, trained as an assassin
to eliminate any threats to his rule.

The training was hard, but Alarith did not back down, even if he sometimes
hesitated. He had inherited some of the ruthlessness of his father, but
tempered by her mother's human blood he did not feel all that good about
all the deaths his skills were meant to cause. This did not go unnoticed.

Role

Chapter 14

"Father. As you have summoned me, I am here. What is it you wish of me?"
Alarith asked, standing before the opulent throne, alone in the echoing
hall with his father.

"Your training is nearing completion, Alarith. Only a final test of your
abilities remains", he smiled unnervingly, sipping from a goblet of red
wine. "Tomorrow, at noon, come to me in the dungeon. Come prepared. For
now, there is nothing else", he stated and then waved his hand
dismissively.

With a slight bow, Alarith left the throne room, half excited and half
suspicious. He had not heard of such final tests before, but on the other
hand his training would finally end. His thoughts wandered and finally
ended up at a certain maid of the castle... his beloved Maria. They had
been meeting in secret for months, sharing many dreams and nights of
passion, and he wished one day he could ask for her hand in marriage.
Strangely, though, she was nowhere to be found this night, and his
inquiries were met with no success. Perhaps she had been assigned some
urgent task... a pity, since he could have used encouragement tonight.

After a restless night and a busy morning, Alarith descended the stairs to
the grim dungeons of the castle where his father's laboratory and the
prisons were - prisons which very few ever left after being thrown in. King
Drezarith was already waiting for him, standing by the heavy metal-braced
door of his lab, with no one else in sight, not even the ordinary dungeon
guards. "Ah, always as precise, my son", he chuckled, "it is time for you
to begin your final test. Enter." Producing an intricate key, he unlocked
the door and lead his son inside.

Alarith had never seen the lab before, it was something his father wouldn't
reveal to anyone, though many kinds of... not so pleasant rumors had
circulated around. And it was clear many of those rumors had some truth to
them; the main room was filled with mysterious magical equipment, arcane
tomes, occult drawings and symbols, as well as grim and rusted instruments
of torture and death. The door slammed shut behind him, rousing him from
his thoughts, and he followed as his father walked to a smaller door on the
opposite wall. The king opened it with his keys, and Alarith could feel his
heart skip a few beats. Two mangled, bleeding figures hanged on long chains
reaching down from the ceiling in the middle of the room. Female figures.
"Mother...! MARIA!" he cried, starting to rush to their aid, but he was
restrained by the king. "It is useless, Alarith. They will soon die of
their wounds... and the most painful poisons that I used to ensure that
they would perish. There is only one thing you can do for them. Kill them."

The young man stood still, unable to speak or move, a maelstorm of emotions
muddling his thoughts. After a long while, he was able to utter "Father...
why?", powerlessly clenching his fists. "Because sacrifices are necessary
for excellence. Do your work" was Drezarith's cold reply.

Role

Chapter 13

Every second felt like an hour. Alarith pulled his royal dagger from its
sheath inside his tunic. His hands shook in pace with his heartbeats when
he approached the women who were barely conscious. Burning rage and
smothering sorrow fought within him; on one hand he wanted to turn around
and drive the dagger through his father's heart... but that would only
prolong the suffering of the only people he loved. "A... Alarith...
don't..." his mother whispered, blood dripping from her mouth. He closed
his eyes and unerringly thrust the ornate dagger, precisely piercing
between the woman's ribs and her heart, getting a faint gasp from her. "I
am sorry, Mother... I am so sorry", he mumbled, waiting a good while before
extracting the blade. All the while he could feel the king's gaze on his
back, and his anger was starting to overcome the sorrow. He turned to his
beloved Maria, and had to close his eyes again. The sight of her on the
brink of death, unable to do anything, was too much to behold. "...do it...
please...", the young woman whimpered. "I can't... I can't!" Alarith
howled, grasping at his temples with his bloodied hands, "You can not ask
of me to do this, Father!" "You heard her yourself, my son. She wishes to
be set free of her agony. Surely you wouldn't deny that from her?" the king
said calmly, simply shrugging off Alarith's pain.

Trembling with suppressed emotion, the prince finally opened his eyes and
looked upon his betrothed. "...please... I love you Alarith... end this..."
she moaned, and it was the only thing he could take to hear. He flinched,
lifted his dagger, and again with trained precision struck her through the
heart. "...I love you, Maria, this is it not how it was supposed to be."
Her eyes widened, pupils dilated... and Alarith did not pull the dagger
until she stopped breathing, never turning his gaze away. "Excellent. You
may take a moment to contemplate, then meet me in the throne room", the
king announced, and simply walked off, leaving the torn youngling alone
with all the love he had in his life. Never before had the rumors that his
father had some kind of a pact with demons, devils, or other creatures of
the Night... or that he was one of them himself, had rang more true.

Alarith stormed into the throne room, where his father once again was
enjoying some wine as if nothing had happened. "You are a monster", he
hissed, hands still bloody and stopped before the throne, barely
restraining himself from trying to throttle his father. "I am a man, and
such is the way of men", the king laughed, "and you are at the end of your
basic training. Congratulations, Alarith."

"How dare you! Were my mother and... and... Maria nothing but expendable
resources for you?"
"Very valuable resources, as it was required to push you to the next step."

"You are mistaken if you believe I will remain at your side, Father. I
will... have vengance for my mother and Maria on you..."

"Hah! Do you believe that you could defeat ME in battle?"

"...no, not today. But one day, I will come for you, Father, and I will
make you pay for your sins."

"Promising. Then go. You are hereby exiled from the kingdom of Faramwood,
until you have what it takes to fulfill your pledge."

Taken aback by his father's

Role

Chapter 12

(Here's a few details about the character that may or may not be obvious
from the rest of the role.)

Alarith is a very determined man: when he has gotten himself into
something, he isn't one to back down until a resolution of some kind is
reached. As it is now, his determination is directed mostly towards one
single goal: to become powerful and skilled enough to face his fiendish
father and destroy him in battle. Even if his goal is fueled by his
emotions, his approach to it is guided by his well-learned precision and
wits.

Even though in his own words he is "ready to commit any sin necessary, as
none can be as great as what his father has done" and he regards life
mostly as a cursed, painful existence, he still dislikes lying and
betrayal. This obviously does not include secrecy, stealth and subterfuge.

The only belongings he carries with him are his royal tunic marking him as
a Prince of Faramwood, and the very dagger he used to slay his mother and
beloved which he has taken to calling "Broken Dreams" (and which he poisons
and uses, if he has need for poison daggers; obviously he wouldn't give it
away to someone else).

Not the most talkative type, Alarith usually uses polite and "noble" words
when he does speak.

Being a quarter-drow, he could pass for a human if not for the traces of
elven beauty in his form and his odd combination of skin and hair hues.

Role

Chapter 11

Written in an elegantly cursive hand:
"... starting to approach true grace in my ways as an assassin. I have yet
to succeed in the simple yet effective killing blow, always needing to
resort to more techniques, but I will not give up until I have succeeded.
To reach mastery, one must take pains and make sacrifices... how right you
were, Father."

"... I finally gathered my courage and sought out the Dread Lady. It went
as well as could be hoped for; I am still alive to write this, even if
drained after her... affections. To find out more of her terrible secrets,
I must prove my worth as well as entertain her for now. Perhaps some
artistically swift deaths of foolish elves would do that, spilling as
little blood as possible as it seems to be of high value for her..."

Role

Chapter 10

"...finally, I have started to understand the secrets of the death strike,
yet there is still much to learn. The simple, precise elegance of a
successfully executed one is in a way a beautiful thing to behold. Not
many years ago, I wouldn't even have dreamed of such power in my hands..."

"...Meeting again with the Lady of the Night, she has granted me a boon of
fearsome nature. Whatever power of the Abyss, the Night or plain sorcery
Father posesses, I am now more ready to answer it with my own, as I have
slipped even further into the shadow, and the shadows have slipped into
me. I feel the chill in my bones, yet it only strengthens me. The scent of
blood entices me, yet it feels only... normal. To the outside, I still
look mostly as I always have, as long as I do not laugh too openly..."

"...wherever your soul dwells, dear Maria, I pray that you need not see
everything I have done and have become in your name."

Role

Chapter 9

"...And now, there are these Nexans. Even if their efforts may have been
brave and for the good of the world as they managed to somehow stabilize
those chaotic incursions, they now seem nothing more than a roving band
of backstabbing fools and turncoats. How quickly their nobility degrades,
too. If it wasn't only that, but they must pry into everything and
interfere. I must stay wary for them."

"...I am another few steps closer to my vengeance. Not long ago, I crushed
the head of a foolish Nexan gnome with my bare hands, striking at the
perfect moment not only breaking her neck, but slamming her lifeless skull
against the rocks. It pleases me to see work well done, but this is no time
to stop."

Role

Chapter 8

"...More and more often, as I spill and taste the blood of those daring to
cross my path, I forget the horrid emptiness within me for a fleeting
moment. What replaces it instead is a strange sense of exhilaration, like
a hunger one did not know of being sated. Alas, it does not last for long,
and with its passing it brings only a craving for more. And in all its
gruesomeness, this barely even bothers me any longer. Why should it, even,
as I succumbed to the darkness willingly and it welcomed me, making me
more than I ever could have been before."

"...I feel nearly ready for the final battle, now. Some nuances still wait
to be discovered, but soon, very soon, the time to truly use them is at
hand. Not a day passes, Father, without me thinking about just how
excruciating I can make your death."

Role

Chapter 7

"I know you are waiting, Father. I wait too. So soon, so soon I will come
for you, and then vengeance shall be mine. Whatever will become of me after
that, I care not. I will have so much time to think about that, when I draw
the life out of your cursed form with the very dagger you made me to use on
that fateful day. The dagger that shares the same cursed existence that I
do, bound by hate to accomplish its one true task... it does certainly seem
that my presence has had an affect on the once ordinary weapon.

Then again, I no longer am an ordinary man. I am a monster... one even
stronger than you could hope to be, Father. I will see that"

The words end abruptly and the page is ruined and torn, as if it was ripped
by a pen pressed down all too hard.

Role

Chapter 6

Once again, the walls of the castle of East Faramwood rose before Alarith.
What had it been... a hundred and twenty years? Generations, for these
villagers, none of which he recognized, and none of which recognized him as
he had arrived through the lands, stopping only briefly to inquire about
local happenings.

Things were not too well, he had learned, with poor harvests and harsh
winters plaguing the lands. The dukes of West and North Faramwood, his
brothers, had died years ago and the king had become even more reclusive
and... strange, even if that was not quite the word the peasants dared to
use.

None of that was important, however, as the moment of his vengeance
finally drew close. Infiltrating the castle proved almost too simple; after
nightfall, the gates were guarded only by one half-wit of a guard, not
quite the likes he would have believed his father to employ, and silencing
him bloodlessly did not take long. In the empty darkness of the courtyard,
he faced a bigger riddle: where to find his father? The castle was large,
and he couldn't scour it in entirety without running into more guards
sooner or later... and the quicker this would be over with, the better.

He stood in the shadows of the wall, contemplating. He would have to start
somewhere, and the chilly north wind was pushing him towards the south
wall... and the south spire, also known as the clock tower. It rose above
the town square of East Faramwood, and on the highest floor, above the
massive clock, was one of the chambers in private use of his father, he
recalled. As good a place to check first as any.

Role

Chapter 5

A few minutes and a countless steps later, he was in the engine room of the
clock tower. He stopped his silent advance, listening to the steady, loud
ticking of the mechanism. It was almost midnight, such a poetic moment for
the final battle.

With a deep breath, he continued on and silently slinked up to the last
floor. The room was illuminated by a few candles, flickering in a breeze
blowing in through a door left wide open, leading to a narrow balcony. Out
there, against the pale light of a waning moon, he saw a figure... an all
too familiar one.

He started slightly as the bell of the tower started tolling midnight. This
was no time to lose focus like so, he scolded himself, and reached for his
dagger. The figure twirled around abruptly and stepped inside, into full
view. Alarith froze in spot.

"Well met, my son. It has been quite some time", the King intoned, his
piercing gaze still as unnerving as so many years ago. In fact, everything
about him was exactly like Alarith remembered, it was as if he had not aged
even a bit. Something about this shook Alarith's confidence and he felt all
the elaborate plans he had been weaving together during his journey slip
from his grasp.

Ten, eleven, twelve tolls... thirteen? Either he counted wrong, or the
clock actually struck thirteen hours. He struggled to shake the surreal
sensation from his mind.

"Father. I have come for you, as I promised."

"Yes, yes, you were always a man of your word, I expected nothing less. I
trust your exile has treated you well", the King chuckled, eyeing the
gaunt form of his son. "I can feel it. The dark power hiding within you,
lurking, waiting to be unleashed... excellent. You've made good use of
your time."

Alarith gnashed his teeth quietly, feeling the hatred burning away the
doubt and uncertainty brought by the failure of his surprise entrance.
"I did not come here to exchange idle banter. Before I kill you, I want
to know something... why?"

Role

Chapter 4

"Why? Hah! You ask that, yet you already know the answer!" the half-drow
cackled, tossing aside his heavy, regal cloak. "It seems to me you haven't
made the optimal choice of returning here to join me, so I assume this
will come to blows sooner or later... allow me to stall for but a moment
and explain things in greater detail first", he continued, drawing a long,
slender rapier from its sheath, keeping it at ready. He seemed to be
looking at something... behind...

Alarith twirled about, brandishing his cursed dagger, and found himself
facing a hideous monster, reminiscent of the thri-kreen of Araile.
"Allow me to introduce yourself to Ithaxlil of the Abyss, my faithful
servant and bell-ringer, among other things, for the last few decades",
Drezarith said, and the devil chittered in response but offered no words.
"You see, we made a deal, long time ago, but it seems we both tricked each
other... and we both ended up being stuck here, with not quite what we
wanted. Certainly I gained fierce power and longevity, but here I am,
unable to leave my source of power behind, and here he is, bound by our
agreement until I see fit to fill the one last stipulation", the King
continued. As the devil did not seem immediately hostile, Alarith allowed
his attention to return to his father. "I knew you were... bargaining with
something, father. And so did many others."

"Little difference did it make. But I suppose I did not answer your
question in full yet. Why did I have you kill your mother and that tramp,
what was her name..." Drezarith taunted him with a smirk on his face.
Alarith barely could hold himself back, attempting to focus all the hatred
for that single, final deathblow instead of letting it loose too early.
His blood had not felt this hot since the fateful bite of the Dread Lady.

"They had to die, because you were far more important. Consider love a raw
material, like ore, that one must smelt and forge into hatred and rage to
be able to use it as a weapon. That is what I have done for you, and as
far as I can tell, my plan has been a fair success."

Alarith could not think of anything to say. He just trembled silently
between the devil and his father.

"You see, when I thought this little plan up, I was already aware of my...
stalemate with Ithaxlil, and you were by far stronger than your brothers,
so I decided to grant you this fantastic opportunity to become even
stronger than I, and most of all, unbound by these cursed lands. I needed
someone to do what I could not."

"So this all... was a gift?" Alarith asked, clenching the dagger tightly
in his hand. "A gift, so that your tormented soul would know, even as it
writhes in Hell, that your bloodline lives on?"

"Something like that, yes. Of course, you still don't seem to appreciate
it like you should, but perhaps one day you will. Now then, shall we?
Ithaxlil won't interfere on us in any manner other than through his
infernal powers vested within me. We will find out if your secrets are
a match to his!" the King exclaimed, lifting his rapier.

Role

Chapter 2

His glee was interrupted by the door opening behind him. That devil. He
twirled around, cleching his bloodied dagger. After all this, one devil
would not be much to face. But Ithaxlil stayed at the door, not making
any threatening moves.

"I should thank you, son of Drezarith", it chittered. "As you have
defeated your father, you have also freed me from having to feed him
with my power."

"Spare your thanks for one who cares to hear them, devil", Alarith
growled, staying at ready to strike at the fiend if necessary.

Ithaxlil seemed more amused than offended, and it chirped to itself, as
if laughing. "Of course. It is a pity, the only soul I could claim from
this deal was your father's. All the other beings we feasted upon only
lost their lives, with their souls forever bound to haunt this cursed
place. You should consider that before you sit upon your throne, Lord of
Faramwood", the insectoid creature hissed. "But I can assure you, their
endless wandering in these cold halls won't be anything compared to the
agony your father will enjoy when I consume his spirit, if that is any
relief to you."

"Begone already!" Alarith bellowed, barely even listening to the fiend's
snide words. Something about the parts he did listen to, however,
immediately started troubling him.

The devil made a mocking bow and said "As you wish, Lord Alarith. May we
never meet again", before vanishing into the shadows of the chamber.

...

There is not much to say of what happened after that. Alarith left the
castle as quietly as he had arrived, and no one in Faramwood would ever
know what happened to their wicked king that night... anyone alive, at
least.

He didn't care who would rise to claim the throne, as his business here
was done. But the devil's words still haunted his mind. Naturally, it
had said those things for the sole purpose of disturbing him, but what
if it wasn't just lying for its own amusement?

What if the force that had claimed the lives of his beloved ones had
left their souls trapped in the fetid dungeons forever?

Right now, he was not ready to face that possibility.

Role

Chapter 1

"It has been a long time since I last wrote anything upon this journal.
Years, in fact... not after that day I gained my vengeance. Since there
are still empty pages left, perhaps it is time to fill them out.

It is strange how one can live, train and fight for one single moment
somewhere in the distant future, and when that moment passes, what is
left? Somehow, I never thought that I would live beyond that day, that
I would no longer have that unwavering goal to aim for, and getting
used to that was not easy at first. I barely recall the few weeks, even
months after that day, as I must have spent them mostly in a drunken
stupor, a thoughtless trance of idleness. But then, I could no longer
push the words of that fiend out of my mind.

If you still are chained to the damp dungeons of that castle, my dear
Maria and mother, then there is no time to rest. I will find a way to
either release you... or join you, whether in your eternal curse or the
Netherworld, even if I must go through the aeons of torment I have
earned with my deeds. However, having to wait such a time... it would
be better to think of another approach.

Although my adventures through old towers and tunnels have not proven
very helpful in finding a way to release haunted spririts, or even
communicate with them, I have not lost hope of finding such a way..."

"...without the single driving goal behind my every action, I certainly
have had time to think of many things. Such as myself.

A dagger, forged in white-hot fires, sharpened to a deadly edge, and
made to dispatch a single foe; that is what I am. A tool of death. What
I could have been no longer matters, as this is my fate and this I have
learned to accept and even cherish. But one thing I will not accept is
limiting myself to that single foe. I will not be put on a mantlepiece
afterwards and spoken of only in tales of past glory, but I find myself
wanting more. More blood and victims, more fearful whispers among the
crowds. It is ironic that I should play everything out like you hoped I
would, Father... that I would surpass your power and be unchained by
mistakes like yours, carrying on your cursed blood in my veins.

I wish you were not dead, sometimes, so that I might kill you again."

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